


Dark Matter

by AMRainer



Series: Sky's Still Blue [1]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Dark, Episode Related, Eventual Smut, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Long Shot, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9072751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMRainer/pseuds/AMRainer
Summary: 'I wish I was innocent in a bad way'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I gotta thank my beta Betty Drake, she's amazing.

"BIRTHRIGHT"

* * *

 

She watched him leave with bemused, saddened eyes. The brown orbs following the move of his broad suit jacket clad back. Her chest tightened and Emily swore to God she couldn't take the pain of a defeated Hotch. It was stupid, of course, even after all their _complicated_ beginning. Okay, there was nothing that much complicated, actually. There was anger, and that was that, nothing more, nothing less.

She wouldn't be the hypocrite to say that she adored him even though he almost spit in her face. Emily Prentiss had her pride and even with all the _conditions_ for her to join the team, he had no right to be a pain in the ass and that was the last thing she wanted anyway. But after Milwaukee, there was no point in keeping that shit going. They both withdraw that stupid game of who hated the other one more and who had the morals or who had the guts.

Things flowed " _easily_ " from that day forward. Prentiss could even think she saw a tinge of some different feeling when her reckless self decided to surface and she slipped the most intelligent idea of going inside the unsub's house on her own. Put aside the tormented look he had when he found her fallen to the floor with a bleeding wound.

She needed to help him in any way she could. Her short exchange of looks with the team, especially Dave, told her that she should act since none of them even motioned to do something about it. Maybe that's the way it was, or used to be, whatever. Because that was supposed to change now as Emily moved on her heels and crossed the glass door, leaving the others behind with surprised, confused expressions.

* * *

 

The brunette couldn't reach him by the bureau's garage in time. When she made it to her car, his SUV - which was parked at Dave's left - was gone. Prentiss took a deep breath, the coldness and loom of the late night's air filling her lungs in slow motion. Something tightened in there.

The moment she came to her senses, her hands were folded across her chest, the black boots clashing against the curb of the quiet neighborhood. Albeit she had no idea of what she should even say - not to mention, do - her intentions were the best and perhaps that could help by itself.

She knocked on his door, wondering whether she should smile or keep a straight face. As the period of awkward silence lingered, Emily came to her terms with respect and a tinge of worry on her body language. Yes, she knew better than to flood him with emotions and concern. She knew he would feel weak and worthless and they were similar in that specific way. They both hated this sort of feeling towards them.

Her knuckles hit the wooden door again, harder this time, after trying to ring the bell with no success. It was broken just as much as the man probably in there. _Silent and broken_.

 _'One last time'_ , she chanted inwardly, fists in the air in a worried attempt. She stopped wheels on the track. He could have passed by some random bar on the way home, he could be talking to Haley or Jack. Perhaps he had another place to go first and she was the stupid for not calling before.

"Emily?" the masculine voice echoed through the empty doorway.

She spun on her heels, hands tucked on her pockets protectively, eyes pouring an undisputed disturbance and all her plans of non-emotional display went to hell.

They had a small talk, few words, long silence. It took Emily some approaching to her nostrils finally capture the smell of alcohol and frustration emanating from her boss. A crooked smile appeared when he asked her to come in.

"It's late, the psychos might show up" he murmured before swinging the door open. She would have said that he should drink more often, but she watched many of her friends fall to their lowest because of that. She couldn't let that happen to him.

Lights on, she carefully roamed the comfy house as Hotch disappeared down the hall which led to the kitchen. Haley probably chose the furniture with great care, aiming the future children who were supposed to run around the place. Now those were ghosts and it felt hollow.

"Scotch or wine?" his voice trembled and she stammered lamely before asking for the latter.

Pouring rain hit the windowpane at the exact moment Emily downed the last droplets of her wineglass. Hotch had finished his scotch sooner and she could almost taste how drunk he was even as they sat on the floor.

At some point, he rolled up the sleeves of his neatly ironed shirt, even undone his tie as it hung loosely around his neck, and oh those boyish strands of raven hair falling across his forehead mixed with the flush of his cheeks. Altogether, those cues just gave him some exquisite air of youth and danger.

Emily herself had her grey sweater off, which was folded in a very meticulous way upon the armchair. Her silk hair falling over her shoulder blades. She had one bare foot under the coffee table and the other one closer to her body as she flexed that leg.

The conversation between them went better than expected, probably due to the great amount of alcohol running in their veins. She'd never thought he'd be the talker type, but he proved her wrong. He asked her if she enjoyed the Beatles and she only nodded and played along. When 'Martha My Dear' etched on his skin, he told her it was Haley's favorite and resigned to that until the last melody of the song.

Then he told her. _Everything_. What he thought, what he did, what she did, what he thought she was thinking. About Milwaukee, about his transfer and about Jack in the very end. Though she never knew what he felt and his voice sounded even and sober as he spoke his mind, this was just the surface. Aaron Hotchner knew better than to flood her with emotions. He knew better than to flood anyone with them.

Her hand patted his knee in solace. She wouldn't coo as JJ, wouldn't talk as Dave, wouldn't hug as Garcia, stay at a loss of words as Reid or give a sentimental speech as Morgan. Those were their ways and she loved them for that, but for Hotch, _no_ , those were not what he was looking for. And she knew that because most of time she felt the very same way.

"Life is a bitch" she pronounced, meaning each word with a careless shrug.

His darkened eyes bore into her and he nodded silently. While everyone who had ever crossed her life used a long compound of words to describe their desires, Hotch made everything clear with a single glance. Emily's eyes met his and she gasped.

"Hotch" she whispered right before their lips collapsed against each other.

He didn't ask for permission - her body gave herself without a single word anyway - and he found his release in her. Tears sprinkled his eyes and kissed her cheeks while he was _fucking_ her senselessly. She came to him in a muffled scream and, shortly after, she dozed off alone by the couch with only her blouse covering her torso. That night, they didn't even bother to undress themselves at all.

It felt empty but it felt good.

* * *

She woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Thighs and back still sore from whatever happened the night before. Put aside the massive hangover. Prentiss looked around to feel her pants back on herself, a blanket enveloping her from waist to toes and a pillow right under her head.

Hotch sat across her, a faint smile of embarrassment on his face as he struggled to keep his impulses on a tight grip. It was a surprise when she faked her best and asked in worry if they spent the night together in more ways than one.

"You don't remember?"

"No" it was a simple answer for a simple question.

He didn't even flinch as he lied and assured her they spent the night discussing various subjects until both passed out. ' _One mor_ e _thing they were alike at'_ , she pointed out to herself. Just like that, she accepted his excuse promptly and moved forward, wondering what he would have done if she'd ever told him the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beautiful beta Betty Drake

"3rd LIFE"

* * *

Christmas this year had been lonely for both of them. Emily caught up with her mother and even though the Prentiss women were developing a good relationship – one that could almost be called a fraternal situation – they still held different point of views, so to start, about many things. It wasn't like staring at the bottom of the fourth or something glass of scotch and feeling the tongue heaving.

No, this was Aaron, sitting alone in the same couch where he took the woman who must be wearing a beautiful wrap-around red dress at some fancy restaurant, probably with her mother. _Hopefully_ with her mother. For sure, it was becoming a bad habit. One he kept to himself so it wouldn't hurt his family. _'Not as his father hurt his'_ , he sighed to the tiny voice trembling as memories sank him back into reality. Still, it left _her_ broken and bare. His hands were running through his hair, his head falling distractively to meet the scent of her perfume, marking his furniture as hers.

They all came back together early January; the holidays did good to all of them. To some more than others but those were just small evidences of different phases they found themselves in. Reid was entertaining JJ and Derek with some random trick, probably one he learned recently as he appeared to be the happiest person around. Dave had a cup of coffee and new suitcase, likely a new acquisition, maybe a gift.

Prentiss walked in later than usual. Once she told him once she was definitely not a morning person. He even snorted as she admitted how many alarms she used to set, so she could get up and drag herself to Quantico. Reality pained as their eyes met for a split second through the window of his office. It was one of their things. Eyes always speaking more than any words could. That first night was only a confirmation. The smallest of the smiles appeared on her face and she was back to work, uninterested in whatever the others were doing right by her side.

Hotch was confused to begin with. He felt uneven, unsteady, insecure if you could say so. But he kept his mind to what was right and pulled through, though not as easy as he supposed to. Of course he vaguely wondered, rambled and mused on a daily basis since their _steamy_ encounter whether she indeed forgot or not. She could just be as great liar as he was.

Albeit he hated that small line of disappointment when he assured her nothing happened between them, he couldn't bring himself to admit he failed her too. Prentiss trusted him that day, she went to him with her mind and heart wide open and he used her in the most egoistical, pathetic way. He, Aaron Hotchner, whom always kept his actions on a high standard, watched his morals crumbling.

He swallowed thick as he left the walls of his isolation, "We have a case".

* * *

His cravings and his rationality battled relentlessly throughout the case. When he scanned the girl fallen to the floor, his overprotectiveness reached brutal levels and he found himself keeping Prentiss close to him, even if sometimes he couldn't bring himself to look at her without thrilling. She wasn't suitable for the unsub's M.O., he was aware, but he had to make it up to her somehow, even if it was through always having her back. At least, that was what he convinced himself of.

She told him about one of her bad habits and that smug smile he had on his face was priceless. Arms folded across his chest, hair shorter than the first time they met and Emily thought about how they wasted their youth, how they had seen the evil in the eyes of men every day, how they lost their faith in kindness and goodness and in love. It was a dismaying realization that downed on her as she found herself comparing her wild years to the girls in front of the theater.

They remained in quiet solitude, lost in their own musings as they made their way back to the local P.D. Conversation had never been one of Hotch's favorite activities and Emily was too tired to even bother to try. His hands held a vicious grip on the steering wheel, thumbs thumping the material to the rhythm of 'Martha My Dear'. It captured her attention and she found herself humming the bloody song.

* * *

A shot to the brains and one more life was gone before Reid's very eyes. The boy genius couldn't be more traumatized. He failed his mission and that made him feel miserable and worthless. Emily knew that feeling on a tight knit.

Spencer sat with JJ across him by the end of the jet, two pairs of brown eyes were watching his back silently. Maybe they should stand, use some kind words or any gesture towards their friend. But they were too lost in their own insanity as they were sitting side by side.

Hotch found himself lingering to the shapes of her profile, roaming to the curl of her parted lips through the corner of his eyes. It was not intentional or carefully planned. Something inside him was shouting and tearing apart, brick after brick, the wall he built between what was meant to be home and what was meant to be work. No, Emily was not home. But he felt a warm sensation whenever she was around, like some cosmic embrace if that rigmarole existed anyway.

He wanted to tell her. He wanted to be able to tell her the truth since she was the only one who, without a single pressure from the others, went to check on him. The older agent knew Dave cared, also did JJ, Morgan, Reid and Garcia, but he knew he hooded himself inside his gloominess, especially after Gideon's abrupt departure.

 _'_ _Professionalism'_ , he has been quipping every morning to the tired man in his bathroom's mirror.

The pages in front of the Unit Chief flowed a bit and he moved instantly to gather them together, his focus absolutely at a loss.

"Haley called me" the bitter tone muttered, sight never leaving the files he now had control over.

She only nodded, a small gesture for such dubious announcement as they fell into petrifying indifference again. Well, not for her, at least. Prentiss found herself with an unusual pity punching her self-confidence and the small voice in the back of her mind wanting to know more was now at a harsh tone, demanding her to inquire.

Hotch considered and reconsidered the words he'd slip next. Should he tell her about the subject of their conversation? He had to do that since he started the matter with her and she probably was – at least – wanting for this to be over soon. He stuck to the latter, pooling the most objective words he could use.

The moment he turned to spill it out, she was on her feet, standing in the middle of the small corridor within the blink of an eye. Opportunity gone, lines never to be finished, bridges never to be built again.

"I need coffee, do you want some?"

"Sure, thank you"

With a careless shrug, she made her way to the small kitchen, emotions flooding her depths and what the hell was that anyway? She fixed the coffee, taking all the time available. Detachment seemed a good choice to the woman putting all her efforts in what life taught her better than anyone else: _compartmentalization_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Fran, she's been quite a friend and helping me to have courage to publish my stuff

"LIMELIGHT"

* * *

Things were getting worse every time. Emily fooled herself with lies and made up stories about the reasons why she remained quiet. She didn't even know why she was still holding that to herself; after all, clearly there was something off about Hotch since they came back from the holidays. Eventually, the brunette agent judged it was something concerning Haley. She called him, didn't she? Maybe they weren't in terms over the divorce yet. Maybe they decided to give it a second chance for Jack's sake.

She immediately excluded the second option. The Unit Chief seemed more shattered than before, the lines of his masculine face were more apparent, though very slightly. He was tired, worn out to be honest, and his sorrow was nearing the _palpable_.

As Prentiss crossed the bullpen in order to reach her desk, Spencer and Dave were already gone. Although her brains struggled to remember some missing case or consult, nothing came to her and she sat quietly on her not so comfortable chair. She had her favorite coffee from an almost not sacked café near Quantico. It was on her way to work, so she could easily bring herself to afford some cups of the black content without properly leaving her usual track.

Sometimes Emily Prentiss loved to drive. The sensation of some fine music and control had such a powerful effect on her state of extreme solitude that it suddenly made her feel whole. Sometimes buses or subways seemed way better for the same reasons. Those were her choices when she was digging too deep into herself that only a small crowd of strange faces could make her feel less empty. It was like a spiral and it shifted just as her mood did.

The day after their encounter, she took the subway. Although she tried her best do deny it, she knew that Hotch only used her to cope with his own pain. It was somber and infuriating, but Emily Prentiss had done this before to many other good people, those she hurt along the stride of her twisted life.

"Wanna come over for lunch?" his question reverberated in her insides, latching the rest of her agonizing pride.

She agreed with a simple nod and she never found herself at such a loss of words as when Aaron Hotchner made his way to the nearest diner, eyes focused on the track, tight grip on the steering wheel and she vaguely wondered if it was his way of driving. At least, since their encounter, he had been showing this pattern, for whatever reason. It could be stress, it could be the stitches, it could even be Emily watching him more often than she should.

If she had to be honest with herself, he had been gawking at her too. More than eventually, Prentiss felt the hairs on the nape of her neck standing and a thrill running down her spine. One would call that _paranoia_ , though she knew those were the searing eyes of the Unit Chief boring into her back. Not for sexual input, as a matter of fact, but the subordinate had that exquisite sensation he was _keeping_ something from her.

Probably keeping how hard he was struggling with Haley, maybe – and that puny voice was still a muffled screamer in the back of her mind – their brief interlude caught up with him as much as it caught up with her.

 _No_ , she wasn't head over heels or falling in love. She was just stuck in the middle of something nonexistent but still _so_ real that it ached, throbbed relentlessly. It was not like their _situation_ was affecting her because if one looked at her face and her mood and her lingering _girlish_ smile, this person would assure Emily Prentiss seemed the happiest lonely person of the entire world. _'Appearances are everything, they can always define who you are.'_ her mother used to repeat these vile words every single day. Well, whenever she could make it home.

"She said I should sign the papers uncontested, so we can keep it between us, no suffer, no extra money spent"

They were both devouring their meals therefore they could make it back to business the fastest available. Even with _only_ paperwork to be finished and a possible case in Philadelphia, both were not that kind of people. The older agent cleaned his mouth with the white napkin, applying a gentle pressure to which the younger found herself nearly trapped to follow each action. Doe eyes fluttered eyelids in a flick, giving him no time to perceive how much she clung to that.

"And what do you want?"

Hotch told her sharp and clean, enough for her to lock these words inside her mind until she probably couldn't handle the distressing pain flowing through her veins in slow motion. He wanted Haley back, he wanted Jack back, most of all, he wanted his _life_ back. Emily knew how selfish it was what she'd say next, but this was another of her flaws.

"What you want, you're not gonna get" his sight met her vacant stare, his eyebrows lifting only an inch.

The way back to business was about ten minutes of icy silence, broken when he turned on the radio and some classic hits' program was playing at a random station. His jaw clenched as did her fingertips, which clawed instinctively to the fabric of her pants. Grunge was not his thing, but the mournful voice struck through him, tearing down all his walls until they were fallen to ashes.

_I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,_

_I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky,_

_But why, why, why can't it be, can't it be mine?_

Pictures of how their bodies almost pathologically feasted on each other formed crystal clear in front of his eyes. It was almost like he could stop himself from breaking her as he did. Only he couldn't, things were done, _indulgence never meant forgiveness_.

"I know what happened that night" her voice murmured bluntly, aggressive against the echoing rhythm.

She never knew for sure why she told him the truth. She was touched by the remembrances of her youth, brought up through the strums of the guitar. Prentiss should have known better than to open her big mouth. But she didn't, and life was altered again.


	4. Chapter 4

"DAMAGED"

* * *

The papers had been filling his briefcase for over a month, enraged folds attesting his not most recent failure, because that place was held by Emily and her new messy bangs, playing across her forehead, almost _mocking_ of the regretful look he had in his eyes. It was a surprise – _a bad one_ – when she showed up with them. She was still one the most beautiful women to cross his path, but the meaning it had was overwhelming.

New haircut could express a bunch of different things, many of them positive, still a few of them sorrowfully preoccupying. Prentiss, from day one, appeared to be almost as neat freak as he was and, yet, her hairs were disheveled, too _careless_ to be considered usual. Plus, it was a way to expand her visions, watch herself change in front of the mirror like a getaway after the smallest of the crimes. Both of them always spoke more through body language and glances, it had always been their tell to what they wouldn't let break the uneven water of that insane river called their lives.

Hotch captured her deep eyes through the glass and reality knocked him down to the conversation they have been avoiding from the diner. Yes, the one in which he could do nothing but inwardly beat himself senseless, until he was cold and numb enough to apologize _regretless_ for their not-to-be-repeated mistake. They agreed on that particular point: never to talk about the episode again.

"Hotch?" blue wide orbs shone as the petite blonde knocked on the open door of his office "The fraternization seminar is due half an hour"

Fraternization seminar. Of course, there had to be a painful _reminder_. There always had to be one.

* * *

He could have taken her with him, he was supposed to in the first place, because that was the way it was from day one. Hotch would pick up Prentiss to join him as a consultant to the many prisoners they had to visit throughout the period she had been with them. Under the intent gaze of the team, _constantly_ , but never even a word flew about the matter. One day, she'll be thankful for that.

But, not today. Today she had eyebrows furrowed and the greatest of the unamused faces. She applied no efforts on concealing her angered displeasure. One with a pair of eyes could tell she was about to tackle Hotch down and knock some sense into him, he just needed to breathe near her and that was that.

She didn't even take a glimpse at him during the stressful day of pure paperwork. Every report seemed absurdly long and enraging and Emily was about to break down when she finished her last one. It was late and, besides Spencer – who had left for a short visit to the shower -, the Unit Chief and the infuriated brunette were the only two still at work.

She climbed the steps to his office, stroding inside without even bothering to ask for permission. Emily had to speak her mind and it had to be quick enough therefore the boy genius wouldn't catch up with their _matter_. And she did, she yelled at him at the top of her lungs, gesticulating and losing all her forsaken temper. The subordinate had been giving him the cold shoulder; he had said what he wanted. He chose to be that ruthless disaster he was. She didn't.

"Look, I don't care if you are all fussed because of that _damn_ divorce, you gotta let me do my job!"

Within a few seconds – it took him only the brief period he took to stand on his heels and run into her - he had crossed the line _again_ , the same rush of adrenaline making his heart slam in his ear as he took her mouth roughly. He tugged her lower lip, teeth grazing as she vainly attempted to push him back before he had her pressed against his table, conveying her to sit upon the neatness of his workplace.

It was wrong - _degrading_ even - but she found her core aching for him as she motioned to dig her short nails in the lapels of his buttoned up. The vicious grip he had both on her hips and hair pressed her against him in the right places, bulge of his slacks proving how bad he had been craving for her. There had never been one day he forgot about that night. Not a _bloody_ single one.

They drew apart - panting and lost in their own sick desires – when his phone rang loudly, the small screen shining for what he told her to be the only thing he really dreaded for.

_Haley._

He was torn. Torn wide between the woman flung on his table and the mother of the most important thing in his miserable life. Aaron Hotchner found himself divided between what was appropriate, what had been long decided as correct, and what felt sinfully reckless, what felt _fucking hot_.

However, before he could make up his mind, Prentiss left his embrace with ease, pushing him forward and moving towards the door with brown hardened eyes locked on her figure.

That day, he saw the veracious outcomes of that rainy Friday. He– _finally_ – had her exposed. He had her _Emily_.

* * *

Happy endings didn't happen every day, not in their line of work. They were rare and even though they were almost always able to arrest the bad guys, some leave scars bigger than others and the aftermaths of their chase was much more satisfying. For Dave, that was what this case was all about. About handling his past and fixing his present or maybe his future. Tonight, one of them would sleep with a smile – likely a smirk – plastered on the face, maybe some fancy wine sipped as a commemoration.

Whilst Emily tried her best to fake somehow a shock and even mutter how scandalous fraternization looked - although she made clear her playful tone – Hotch had the papers out of his briefcase. He had his Mont Blanc swirling his left fingers as he pondered whether he should take this to another level or be selfless and stop playing pretend like his marriage could be magically saved. No one – and he knew it – would be able to retrieve every stumble they had all the way to the fall.

Through the corner of his eyes, he had the smooth vision of her green top and grey suit, the messy bangs looking even messier and he blamed himself inwardly for the heavy load he was putting on her. The Chief signed the papers, _defeated_ , his fingers coming to thoughtfully touch his lips, every remembrance flooding his mind. In the very end, there was the flushed face of Emily Prentiss, upon this very woodened surface, where he somehow sealed his fate.

For a while, a short while, Hardwick punched Hotch mentally as he shove the reality against the Unit Chief. _'Nobody gives a damn about the truth'_. And he had his harsh tongue _tied_. That was the exact same thought he had when he hid the truth from Emily a couple of nights ago. He felt like a _pathetic_ monster, selfish to begin with.

His eyes met her slim figure, focused on the job though faux to the last drop. Her mind was prowling the memory of their last encounter, ready to attack and destroy their momentum at the first opportunity. It was called compartmentalization, and she was good at it. Or she used to be, leastways.

For a split second their sights crossed, some awkward realization downed on both of them.

Aaron told her within less than a flick about the _unspoken_. He told her how much he missed her. He told her he wanted her for him, _only him_. He told her he signed the _damn_ papers.

Emily sighed, eyes flying away from the intense stare. She told him she was _his_. And hadn't she been from the first moment anyway?

 


	5. Chapter 5

"A HIGHER POWER"

* * *

Her hands ran through her silky dark hair, a curtain of strands covering the face in front of the mirror. As she brushed with care, layer after layer, Emily found some different line on her face. She didn't know for sure what it was, how could she? The sleepiness was dazzling her, small black spots forming in front of her eyes.

Long eyelashes heavily battered. Once, twice… _three_ times before darkened orbs could focus on the worn out – though satisfied - image. Her cheeks were still gently flushed, rosy lips aggressively swollen and _oh_ those teenage hickeys along her long neck. Some bites near her breasts crowned the filthiest of the looks. She would need to hide herself inside overprotective garments.

Emily's fingertips slowly, painfully, traced the marks he inflicted on her alabaster skin, tasting the reminders of how she was _his_ and no-one else's. It was possessive and goddamn she was feeling deeply used. But she had a role in the play, she invited him for a drink, she asked _rougher and harder_. And Emily Prentiss knew – from the first moment their parallels crossed - how dominant Aaron Hotchner could be. _'We can go as hard as you want'_ , his words rounded her ragged mind whilst the recollection of him shoving her against his new bed made her shudder.

They never made love – would day one day? – but, although his primal instincts spoke to him louder as he _fucked_ her thoroughly, the too gentle way their kiss lingered as he cupped her cheeks told her there was something there. _Something else_. Memories plundered her lack of attention and her mind drifted - like the refreshing breeze just outside his tiny flat - with the smallest of the details.

She remembered when he ghosted his thumb only the slightest against her collarbone, when he entwined their fingers, pressed their touching palms against the mattress as they came in exhausted screams. Most of all, his breath warming the nape of her neck when she woke up to another _hellish_ morning.

That day Emily tasted the liquor on his lips, she knew only one thing for certain. She– _accidentally_ – had him exposed. She had him _Aaron_.

* * *

His hands dragged themselves to meet his face, the thick skin of his palms hooded his closed eyelids, feeling an abnormal hangover tripping inside his skull. It was now a bad habit, and Hotch found himself frustrated with how much he was drowning. Bottle after bottle, glass after glass, and he knew this had nothing to do with Haley or Emily either. This was who had been from the beginning: a monster lying quiet inside, waiting for the right opportunity to psychologically pummel his next victim.

Only his new victim was himself and he was aware of the droplets splashing at each one of them. He knew Reid would be eternally frightened with the momentum he sensed between Hotch and Hardwick. Even Rossi questioned his sanity when he almost barked at JJ when they debriefed the morning before.

Long white legs walked out of the enclosure of his bathroom. He hated this new place, he hated how empty and homeless it looked. There had no feelings of family, _warmness_ , only that idling sensation, in which he'd meet the vacant, mocking stare in the mirror. He had been left behind and grounded with unsettling strength.

Her slim frame crawled beneath the sheets, wearing all the gentleness of how broken she seemed as she stood bare-skinned, overexposed to his very – almost abysmal - eyes. Hotch pretended he was asleep, because he couldn't bring himself to testify the mess he made with her graceful body. He should have worshiped every little inch of Emily, he was one hell of a grown man to admit that.

Yet, he managed to screw it all up. _Again_.

* * *

He never discussed with her whether he should take some time off to be with Jack or not. Still, one week later, his go-bag stood silently upon his table – _yes_ , the very table where all he could think of was her – as his eyes transfixed the glass of the small rectangular windows with appraisable view to outside the building.

Earlier this same morning, he watched her walk in with her turtleneck sweater and neatly brushed hair. Part of him felt better, guiltless at some point. She could stare at herself in the mirror and enjoy being that new person she was inventing every day, most of all, because Emily had been recreating herself minute after minute from the single one she knocked on his door with the prettiest of the smiles. He didn't know, for sure, why so, but he was sure the truth would eventually surface.

However, she was hiding her - not so marked - skin from the others. Prentiss was keeping herself _Prentiss_ for the outer people. Even them being her family – they used to consider her like that anyway – the brunette knew where to draw to line, she always did.

Quiet and rueful, Hotch stood in his Oxfords with salty tears pricking his lids, begging to be released. Musings ran wild to the image of the young sandy haired boy, the smile he so rarely got to see, the small fingers he eventually interlaced his large ones with. His son, _his only son_ , he failed him too.

And Dave walked in.

* * *

She forced her best to ignore Dave and JJ's conversation as she climbed into the backseat of their black SUV. Emily knew, though, what their tense exchange of words meant. They were worried about Hotch and, in extension, about Jack too. Inwardly, the goateed man had that gut feeling his friend was caught up with something, whichever way of release it was – maybe even a combination of them – he perceived the cues of enraged guilt kept as a lump in his throat.

Firstly, he considered alcohol, because he knew how much they all stuck to that at different levels. Him, Aaron and Emily were the ones with the greatest tendencies to succumb to this kind of addiction, he was aware. But then last week, he _saw_.

They were on the plane, finally heading back home after a short, though tiring, case in Oklahoma. JJ had fallen asleep upon her opened case file, just across him, a blonde curtain of straight hair hooding her beautiful features. Morgan had his headphones brutally banging some catchy song against his eardrums and the older man vaguely questioned how someone could sleep with that. Reid, _oh well_ , his eyes were closed, a pained line twitching at his expression and the young boy was probably facing yet another nightmare.

Only his eyes captured that scene, thank God for that. They were whispering secrecies to each other at the kitchenette, their closeness and the sly glances the woman shot at him as she bit her lower lip did nothing to conceal how intimate the subject was. For a split second, he clutched the nape of her neck almost lovingly, rubbing the spot in order to dissipate the whiplash she had been complaining throughout those days. Darkened orbs vainly scanned the place and then their lips met without the same sweetness he watched seconds before.

From that moment forward, Rossi became a silent watcher of whatever they had. They were good at hiding, almost too good to even believe. It was late and he met her impatiently waiting for the elevator. Even as Garcia almost ran into Emily, bouncing and bubbling because she had a date with Kevin the other day and apparently nothing to wear, the brunette maneuvered her way out of that with discreet grace.

"I'm so sorry, Pen, but this killing headache has me worn out today"

When he slipped the car's key inside the ignition, a hungry shadow disappeared near Hotch's parked suburban. A narrow-eyed stare and he gathered the last proof he needed as the curtain of hairs came down just in front of the lost man. She was giving, he was taking and they were _fucked up_.

* * *

' _He is back for good'_ , she thought to herself as his severe image yielded her mind to wander not only about the case, but about how stupidly she missed him. Derek had been denying her attempts to prove him those were not suicides. He had been almost annoying if she had to be honest with herself. She loved him, of course, but sometimes he had those hard ass moments in which she had to compel herself to maintain her blankness whole way through it.

"Good. Prentiss?"

His baritone voice etched on her skin and for God's sake, she felt that urge to embrace him right then and there and go after every detail of his conversation with the younger Hotchner. They were still friends, at least. But she didn't, she gave him what he wanted. Evidences, theories, notes she even kept to herself.

When they headed towards the station, he followed her right behind, his gaze locked on the raven-hair swinging softly as her hips swayed in smooth, bewitching movements. Natural and beautiful and so Emily. He was in trouble, immersing in the curves of her body and the curl of her lips. His warm hand slipped beneath her suit jacket, sending a thrill down her spine that made some of her muscles stiffen in anticipation. Instead of expressing how he was eager to press her soft and rough against his body, his thumb brushed the fabric of her shirt _ever so_ slightly. It was a _gentle_ reminder that he was back and he was _hers_.


	6. Chapter 6

"ELEPHANT'S MEMORY"

* * *

 

It took a while to plant the seed, a short one. Dave held a flaming mug on his hand, swirling his third cup of coffee while Emily approached the machine with a faint smile. She seemed tired and he knew she had spent the whole night fighting, whatever the reason was. If he had to be honest with himself – and analyzing the grim figure Hotch presented this morning – there must have been something concerning their somehow relationship.

"Someone got lucky yesterday" he chanted playfully, eyeing the faded purple mark when she flipped her hair in order to return the small pot of coffee to its place.

It was done. He watched her tiny expressions stiffen, processing slowly what she should – or could – reply. She lied, of course she did, because the pain of confession was too overwhelming. But now he only had to wait, patiently, until Emily felt herself trapped the enough to shove reality on Hotch.

This would hurt _both of them_ , and would be a thin line between their end and their beginning – he hoped for a beginning – but he couldn't stand how they were handling the whole situation.

* * *

Tuesday nights joined the schedule along with Fridays, though they never admitted it. Sometimes he would show up at her place with half bottle of Jack and she'd invite him in with a tug on his neat tie and a desperate kiss. Sometimes, she'd drive all the way to his flat with nothing below her dark dresses but the satin and lace of her bralette. All about desire, release. Never outspoken feelings. _Never_.

Until that distinguished Tuesday in which Emily made her way to his door with smoky pasta and fancy wine. Yes, she wanted to talk before anything, he could tell when he swung the door open. She had been losing sleep for over three days, the growth of the small seed was choking her throughout every breath. Even the _Prentiss_ seemed more bitter than usual. Her smile appeared vague, nails picked and the nervous twitch in the corner of her lips every time someone blunted his name were such a giveaway.

"We need to talk"

Last words before his lips were on hers, hands making their way through her dark, straight hair. She ranted inwardly about how much she missed _herself_. Because she knew the woman reflecting in the mirror of his hallway was not the _real_ Emily. That unknown creature had her cheeks flushed due the bruising grip he had on her hips, a victorious smile on her crimson lips because she thought she could stop him whenever she saw fit. That person fooled herself for way too long with the illusion she had control over this, over _him_.

She was back against the wall, so close to her climax it hurt, when he altered life after one thing led to another, _unplanned_ , careless. It was a smooth clipping on her wrists at first, just a tease, a help to balance them. They had that conversation shortly after their second time – they were sober enough to talk that day, she remembered crystal clear -. She told him how much she hated marks there. They were more difficult to hide, less passionate, more possessive. He had complied with a sleepy nod.

Still, he held a vicious, merciless grip on the very spot while he swore under his breath. He was almost pleased to exceed her imposed limits. Deep - grounded for desire and instincts – his morals screamed that he should stop, should give her the last of the things he had been denying her all this while: faith in him, in _them_.

"I'm sorry"

Emily was on her heels within seconds, utterly shocked and that tinge of relief made him panic with the image of how much he had been emotionally attacking her. Most of all, the realization that he was not the chosen victim of his awakened inner monster. _She was_. And Aaron never begged more for this day to disappear. He needed tomorrow, he needed to _forget_.

His phone rang, blazing the air with a keen tone. Duty called through the tired voice of their blonde liaison. Two dead cops in a small Texan town and tomorrow was there for them, with death and disgrace, but still, tomorrow in all its colors.

" _We_ 're on _our_ way"

* * *

JJ eventually asked Emily what the plural meant, in her subtle and tender way. They were flying across the dark sky, small lightning spots forming as the brunette kept her eyes locked on the glass and the blonde placed herself by her empty side. Hotch was too busy with paperwork and _himself_ at the other end of the jet. As always.

"So… you and Hotch…?"

She swallowed thick, every moment they had shared from their first twisted night hit her shoulders fast and brutal. Emily crumbled, because she knew the blonde wouldn't tell. She would do nothing but use her best console, because that was JJ and she was the same of her: promptly giving and giving and giving until she was draught to dust. When Dave questioned her – and _oh_ how that changed everything – she couldn't even bring her eyes to meet his. Most of all because she had that image of a father on him and she was ashamed for willingly develop any sort of sick relationship she had with the Unit Chief.

Therefore, confession was the only way out. It was her only way _in_.

But she shouldn't, she couldn't, she wouldn't and she _didn't_.

"Business as usual" she had to do something better, she had to sink further "Even if I lured him, he'd stay back you know"

* * *

She avoided him whole way through the case and if she must be honest with herself, every time she gazed at him a despicable rush of excitement – _fear_ – crept on her skin. She was irrevocably lost, God only knew how. On the other hand, Aaron struggled with his own demons, he struggled to be _himself_. Despite the case and Reid, who was displaying his unlike confrontational manners, Emily was the only thing haunting him. The perfect image of her dark eyes, reflecting honest trust and relying on him even after what he had done, was destroying him ever _so_ slowly.

They stood side by side in front of the board, faces and clues and names pinned there with all the logic and rationality they could use. It was the second day, Prentiss wore a calm plain white shirt; Hotch, his sternest suit and tie. He pledged to himself before breakfast that he'd verbally express to her that they needed to have a word. Because they needed, because he wanted, because he missed her hidden touches to his shoulder, to his waist, to _him._

"Owen's mother's death left him with severe issues of abandon" the quirky tone of the young genius smashed his erratic plans. Reality mocked him again – when hadn't it? – and Aaron Hotchner found himself back to his Unit Chief mask. It was distant and it was numb and he wasn't sure for how much longer he'd be able to keep it.

* * *

His somber image appeared at her motel's door right after the case was over. No alcohol, no traces of causality or darkened eyes. No urgent matters also, no case, no consult. It wasn't Hotch there, it was Aaron. If she dared saying, _her_ Aaron. Yet, she didn't for she acquired knowledge of his every nuance, from the darkest to the lightest – the latter was rare and a few minutes before he dozed off but it was there-, and that strict line on his forehead always sneered at her whenever she thought she owned the smallest of the pieces of him. It was confusing and harrowing her already.

"We need to talk" he announced.

"No, we don't"

Her last word before she closed the small distance between them and pressed herself to him with an unapologetic sadness scattered everywhere, from the gleam in her eyes to her trembling long legs. She didn't seal their lips, she didn't taste him one last time before the bitterest of the sentences collapsed against his ear. She only stood there, his arms wrapped around her unsuspecting. There was not an end, there was a beginning.

His palm pressed flat against her skull, his nostrils captured her scent in awe and she nuzzled his firm chest like she used to when he had already fallen asleep. It was a first time for both of them. Still, it was the final _agonizing_ breath. When she pulled back, hooded eyes and inflexible thin lips, his mind anticipated her next sentence. He deserved that, he was aware.

"We can't do this anymore"

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no, i'm not dead lol

"IN HEAT"

* * *

Emily woke up to the taste of lonely bourbon gracing her tongue, her bed a terrible mess trying to encase her sore body in the solitude of her apartment. Her fingers untangled her hair and the overflowing remembrances appeared as much as the ring of her cell announcing another ridiculous routine. She was tired, exhausted, worn out and all the available synonyms. Chest heaving with a lump in plain growth and about to reach her throat, suffocate her.

The younger agent hated that feeling of being defeated. She hated more than anything how this was her only way out – _her only way in_. Because hope was one hell of a screamer right beside where fear hid itself. Her tortuous depths, so harmfully twisted and wicked. Still, ever so slightly, they were blessed with the pure and gold from the girl who could see nothing but beauty in the world.

That's what her father used to say, at least. Prentiss hopped out of bed to meet the warm exterior residing in Washington. She dressed up for a jog, casual plans surrounding the park nearby. Her ponytail was held high, her leggings held tight to her thighs, sneakers clad her feet and, for her torso, one tiny reminder she had snagged from his dresser. It was a tee. Grey cotton and a black Star Wars logo.

He first wore it when he drove her home before picking up Jack at Haley's, and she swore to God that she never saw him look so good. _Natural_. Like the human he had been limply concealing with his harsh figure, neatly ironed suits and perfect placed ties.

It took her a week to steal the piece from his garments. Whenever the hollow inside her decided to surface, she buried her nostrils in the piece therefore they could capture his scent, attached to the fabric. Emily resembled a romantic teenager, she was aware. Yet, she couldn't forbid it.

Perhaps it had been the whole situation between JJ and Will that plundered her thoughts to this very sentimental part. Her blonde friend ran for their future so quite sure of herself - of _them_. What they had and what they were. It was love in the prettiest of the colors and Emily found herself empty, wondering inwardly whether she should just reach for the dark figure pacing in the other end of the Miami station or keep her feelings at bay.

Her legs dragged her to the drug store, intently, to acquire some Advil – a massive headache, upcoming future for sure - her earbuds were playing some catchy song so loud it _hurt_. Her giveaway of how much she wanted to isolate, even if for a while.

It worked well, until her phone buzzed inside the tiny pocket sewed in her legging's waistband. She promptly picked up the call, muttering her surname to receive the urgent voice from the man on the end of the line. _David Rossi_. He hesitated to speak his mind on the concerning matter. He did, though, after some few seconds of unnecessary twists.

"I've been trying to call Hotch since yesterday night" she lost her breath for she knew how devoted he had been in the task of self-destruction "I'm worried"

Prentiss left the place in such hurry that she never occupied her - often sensible - instincts with perusing the precinct for acquaintances. Still, drowning in her greatest silence, blue eyes watched the whole scene, shaken to her core with that not new but not old intimacy she had just witnessed, clearly imprinted on that piece of cloth too large – _unfitting_ – for Emily's feminine torso. The blonde couldn't help but to gape, shocked, anger flashing her features and, most of all, _hurt_ , because she was aware that the brunette was nothing but her breathing opposite. She was exactly what she could never give to _him_.

And Emily boarded Dave's sedan.

* * *

He tried to fake some surprise when the brunette dictated his old friend's new address without overthinking. None of the others had a clue about the simple flat their boss had rented as a temporary place. Hotch would never allow them to watch his slow downfall. And so he took hard on himself, on Emily as extension. She offered to help him, she insisted that he should let her in – though she never made it explicit -, she climbed the walls of her limits to handle him a fist and a gun between the wars of his demons. She didn't _give up_ on him.

They made it to the front door and he unconsciously proceeded to ring the bell. His digits couldn't reach the white plastic, not before her whisper echoed, revealing more than he ever supposed she would.

"It's broken", she assured as her knuckles hit the thin material secluding him inside.

One, two, _three_ times and they earned no answer. She drew in a deep breath, the nervous quiver made a slight show on her lower lip. Prentiss was clever enough to sink her teeth in before the older profiler was able to catch that drift.

"Hotch, it's Emily!"

She despised the desperate tone of her voice, needy and begging almost too much for her own reasonable standards. Her palms assessed the knob, tried to swing it open, fisted the metal with more strength as far as the voice inside her mind refused to admit that they were at a loss. Two options formed. For some unknown reason, she discarded the existence of Haley Brooks from the small poll of options. Maybe she was somehow sure of them just as the media liaison seemed to be about her partner. _Maybe_.

Her posture announced that she'd break into his house without minding her sanity before. Professional relationships be _damned_. Her gut feeling was yelling that he was in there, damaged. And if he was so, there was where she should be. Emily swallowed thick and with the kind aid of their goateed friend, they slammed the entrance and crossed the threshold with all the care that situation demanded.

The woman strode into the joint living room and kitchenette, noticing some few things out of place in great contrast to the neatly arranged space. She saw the cupboard where he locked all the alcoholic contents wide opened, some bottles fallen to the floor, scattered all over the carpet. Salty droplets trickled her chocolate orbs and the pang became overwhelming as she moved towards the door which gave access to his suite. It was ajar and in her way to such realization, colorful sneakers smashed shatters of broken glass.

Fingers fumbled with the knob, fidgeting as she foolishly hesitated, lost to her dreading. Prentiss stood in front of the layer diving them, the remembrances from their first night to their last momentum in Texas exploding black-and-white behind her eyelids. His rare smiles, her blindfolded trust, how self-deprecating it was to give and to have nothing in return. She had, though. Emily had the one thing no one before her could ever achieve.

Her first steps inside the room were filled with this weak light escaping through the surrounding darkness. Then, _she saw_. Vacant bed, tousled blankets, kneaded pillows, closed curtains and windows. Nostrils captured the exquisite smell of scotch as her figure was absorbed by the dim emanating throughout the place. She crossed the mirror's sight while she halted with every move, trailing the edge of the bed until an image emerged to her very eyes.

Her knees were on the floor beside him before Emily could even recollect. Hands searched for his pulse - any sign that he was _alive_ – while she attempted to focus on his chest barely moving. Rossi ran on his heels with the appalled shouts she tore from her lungs, only to find the younger agent bended over his body with her expression drunk in confusion. Feminine palms cupped his pale cheeks, raced through his disheveled hair again and again.

Dave used his rougher, controlled grip to shake the man, urge him to come back from whatever his condition was. It was when he got the glimpse of his nightstand and if he had to be honest with himself, Aaron had ingested all of those alone.

He needed help. He needed _her_. Not the blonde who had compelled him to this state. _No_. He needed the brunette chanting inwardly how she was the one to blame for that.

They dragged him to the bathtub, still wearing those ridiculously classic work attire. Without flinching, she sat there to receive his broad back against her chest. It was heavy – _unawake_ \- even though the warmness draped her body as much as when he had embraced her whilst he dozed off. Dave reached for the shower's faucet right above them, allowing the cold water to work on the younger man along with some soothing whispers, spoke mildly by supple lips brushing his right ear.

Thus, chocolate orbs were unhooded so painfully slow, mixed to the aching flutter of his lids. The older man contemplated her features varying with the ignition of hope flaming due Aaron's sudden conscience. He mumbled something unintelligible to both Emily and Dave, ribcages expanding wildly as the air came easy to fulfill an inner void. He struggled more to speak, inhaled the scent screaming from the body holding his. His head spun too rapidly to meet her careful, pained irises.

"Emily", his breath arrived harsh on her chin, lips edging lips "Please, don't leave"

She gasped against his forehead, surprised, elated and uneasy all at once. Her sight caught the corner of their older friend's lips curling into a brief acknowledgment, " _Never_ ".


	8. Chapter 8

"THE CROSSING"

* * *

She now couldn't stand the images snatching her mind every time she crossed his flat's door, put aside his room and his bed. Still, Emily tried to forbid herself, she struggled to let him be and let him choose wherever he wanted them to meet. Most of all, because she had promised him that she'd stay. Dammit, she even _wanted_ to. But it was more than her compartmentalization skills were able to take. They were not even a couple anymore – had they been anyway? _Friends_. They had decided.

The idea flew through her thoughts as she perused a magazine - one of JJ's favorites – during a ridiculously boring Tuesday evening. He was lonely and she offered to come to the rescue. They never gave up on their schedule after all. From her spot on the couch, she stared at his moves on the dinner he was trying to craft for over half one hour. Almost too intimate. _Almost_.

And she took the courage to speak, eyes never leaving a beautiful image printed to appraise families. He had one, broken as it was. Jack was a little boy, he needed a safe, _warm_ environment to run and feel at ease. The brunette couldn't quite point why she cared about this. She just did.

"Maybe you should look for a bigger apartment" she regretted such advice from the instant it left her tongue.

He tensed under her firm gaze, muscles and jaw stiffening, raw blood flushing though his veins. Hotch was glad she couldn't see his face. It would've hurt her more than she already was. Some part of him alerted to their imprudence, scolded him for allowing such doubt to exist, probably desperate with repercussions. Some part of him endeared the idea, enjoyed it very much so.

Emily Prentiss, glowing with his – _their_ – child.

It was a sight. One he was looking forward to if he had to be honest. Just not today.

A split second later, she approached him with arms folded across her chest, legs halting with every step and a pang flaring from her dark irises. When the ambassador's daughter leaned her hips against his left side counter, she could confirm her theories. She had noticed before – a slight unsteadiness in his shots, nervous wick written all over – but chose to maintain her silence. Only it was too much for her to take. _Again_.

"Your hands" she sighed in defeat, his eyes escaping the concern screaming from hers "You're craving"

 _Yes_ , he was. But he wouldn't admit it at all, not yet. Therefore, he growled that he was doing just fine, just well enough there, that he didn't need help. An unsuccessful attempt to apologize followed his lines from the moment her expression turned into pain. What he most feared had happened, right there, at his kitchenette. He was _feeling_.

She left earlier and hungry, hollow claiming her one last time before the dawn. Vaguely, her distressed mind wondered where she had left him behind. That was not _him_. And so she fell asleep in her parked sedan, just behind the steering wheel and outside his building. Dreams were filled with a unique assurance: they were at a _crossroads_.

* * *

The Unit Chief never knew exactly when their conversation trailed that pathway, but he knew he came up with that in the first place. Maybe it was Haley telling him she'd take Jack to his grandparent's this weekend - third excuse in a row. Maybe it was how Emily fled from him because he was blunt, coarse even. He didn't mean to, of course – there was something there and he was aware.

However, it had scooted her away for God knows how long. She wouldn't come back. _Hell_ , he didn't deserve for her to. Also, she was miles from him, working with the others, endorsing JJ's passion for that case in particular, and he had no courage to check on her. Prentiss was just a phone call away. He couldn't make it.

"Everybody has their breaking point" his goateed friend uttered, years of experience ahead decided to make an encore.

They fell into silence. Aaron focused on his files, struggling to shush an anxious line to appear above his usual frown. His mind was drowning in _her_ oceans, suffocating slowly as he blamed himself repeatedly - and he was wrong, nobody was discharging him.

Dave reconsidered his words for the first time in a while, weighing what was at stake for the both of them. Job, family, the team… _themselves_. He stared at the father of one using his blankest expression, averting his wise orbs to their work. They needed each other. It would hurt, it would be tough, it would cost _to hell and back_. But he could taste how eager he was to hear _her_ voice on the other end of the line, not their blonde media liaison.

He inhaled deeply, "Don't let Emily reach hers too".

* * *

Later that same day, damp raven hair rested on her single bed just after she finished another pack of files about Keri Derzmond. They were at a loss, uncomfortable by sneaking into her privacy, violating her secrets. It was part of the job, although the blonde - who was using their joint toilet – seemed to reconsider much of her own morals throughout the process.

Emily herself had been in that place before. _Morals_. Ethics. All that damn circus she hated playing with, hated breaking her oaths and reason in order to save herself from the outbursts of her own dilemmas. It was complicated, tricky. And she couldn't help her thoughts drifting, hooded eyes picturing the perfect image of _him_ , wondering what he'd be doing, if he'd be asleep or if insomnia decided to take its place.

From the nights they had been together – days when they were too drunk to leave or solitude guided their needs – she more than once was awakened to low songs captivating his place. The ambassador's daughter never missed how he'd play those same records over and over again, until that sample of his beloved album scratched or burned.

There had this particular day, this single one in which they had not a tinge of alcohol in their blood - confusing their actions, making them forget. She wrapped her body with his light green buttoned up, left two upper buttons free, tossed her sleepy hair aside her face and barefooted walked the way to his spot near the window.

It was drizzling. Silent, gentle, unnoticed. Dark shadows painted his bare chest, trails of water droplets reflected from the outsides. They were so small, so careless. And Emily couldn't help but to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her forehead on the back of his shoulder as his body tauted and smoothed under her surprising touch. He was warm, inviting, her lips pressed butterfly kisses to the nape of his neck and the hem of his short black hair tickled her nose's tip.

"I never asked" her tiny smile was almost outshone by his, and he was somehow glad she couldn't see how much she affected him "What's _your_ favorite song?"

However, her startled expression almost stopped him from proceeding. Somewhere within his depths a voice chanted him, lent him enough courage. He forwarded the tracks until a soft strum rose in the place, a voice and a rhythm pleading to be danced to.

Before she could register, he had her draped against him. Masculine arms wrapped her narrow waist, feminine arms rounded his shoulders in a tender, loving way. They swayed in slow motion; her chin leaned on his broad shoulder as she tiptoed with the weight of his hot breath murmuring to her an unforgettable choice, " _Blackbird fly, blackbird fly, into the light of the dark black night_ ".

An insulting tone brought her back after some peaceful minutes of delectable slumber. Emily was more than amazed with how short she dozed off, how fast remembrances of him could soften any persistent preoccupations. It was almost overwhelming. She fished her phone from the nightstand, noticing a blonde beauty still up and lost to her earbuds and whoever her texts were sent to. If she had to bet, she knew the answer from a tired chuckle that managed to be held back.

Long broken sigh muffled into her left ear, cause her to check her screen in a defensive manner. The brunette knew she needn't, for she was plenty informed of whose voice she longed to listen on the other end of the line. He greeted, husky voice pulling those strings his devotion to please used to. Even though she yearned the old him, she cut it short, she replied his questions about the case, his objective points.

But Prentiss held so much more than a soft spot for him, so much more than she could even understand or him either. Another pregnant pause – second in a row – unsettled something, therefore, she spoke, questioned, wanted to know more. With only a sharp intake of breath, matter-of-factly. Still, she did.

And he caught such minimal giveaway. It frightened him his deep knowledge of her. Frightened and soothed all at once, "I was wondering if…" he swallowed thick, measuring his every words, "You could _help_ me… to find a new place"

It was more than house hunting. It was more everything he gave her so far. It was a way in – the one she wanted, dreamed of so if she to be honest with herself -. Dimples flashed from her side, flashed and glowed and lightened up the whole _goddamn_ sky.

He fidgeted with the material of his tie – sleep deprivation, yes, Aaron Hotchner in all colors. Mont Blanc pen tapped insistently a study table with a case file opened and undone in front of him, though he was pretty sure the older profiler sleeping on a single bed right behind him would bark at him anytime soon. The Unit Chief couldn't hide it - the eager, the nervous, the anxiety – not when it was past midnight and all his thoughts were drowned with her dark doe eyes.

"Saturday", her voice was flat, even as warmth burned her from the insides.

A relieved exhale left his lung, a breath he wasn't aware he was even holding, "It's a date".


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayee, chapter 10 is the season finale therefore it's the last chapter of this fanfic. Am I emotional? Not yet, but I'll certainly be next update.

"TABULA RASA"

* * *

They had spent the whole rest of week together, gleefully bound to this chase after a new place that both didn't realize how much it was a giveaway. Dave knew – and he made no efforts on concealing his thoughts – that the brunette pair finally headed to a closure. One day, they'd thank him for this. But now was still too _early_ , too uncertain to affirm.

Although Emily had determined Saturday as a date, Hotch dropped by her apartment that Thursday, after hours, in order to peruse some magazines she mentioned throughout lunch time. He could buy them, he was aware. Yet something told him to just go there, to show her he was more than able to carry a casual conversation out of the bureau.

And he did. Even though her eyes were sparkling, her legs were bare due skimpy pajama shorts, beautiful raven-hair dripping, fair skin wild as nature had formed it. Prentiss was quite a woman, a _breathtaking_ one. Realization downed on him while she fell onto the couch right beside him, handling a pack of rentable precincts. The dark-haired woman seemed particularly amused with his persistent gaze, strings of her pulled and heated senses surfacing. But what she found in his _abysmal_ eyes was different from anything she had ever witnessed.

There was no darkness, no lust. There was an old gleam, faltering still but it was there, flaring from the cellars and readying to be set free. ' _Soon',_ her mind reeled with her lips curving into a tiny smile.

It was a look - short, obstinate, meaningful. It started everything and ended everything and it was the only way they ever really connected.

* * *

"It's the last one", her voice interrupted a tired silence, drizzling wrapped his suburban in yet another sleepy morning, "The Langham"

Albeit his quiet demeanor reflected his uneasiness – Aaron hated such activity, deeply, and Emily could tell for he complained about possible places they verified before –, when the engine came to softly stop across from a comfortable building, she didn't miss his facial expression to change as he took in a pleasing sight.

A green rounded awning lead to great doors, the trees surrounding a picturesque entrance contrasted with light grey bricks that composed the structure. It was an epitome, just _perfect_. As he strode into a light hall, cream walls, vast stairs giving access to some few floors he hadn't been able to count, Hotch hardly noticed the younger agent's presence there, right beside him. And she realized that, until a ginger forty-something approached them.

She was the owner, in a hurry to sell her place and more than glad someone finally acknowledged its existence, "Mr Hotchner, I'm glad to meet you" their hand-shake turned to be absent, eyes of him never leaving the details from the walls to the ceiling "I spoke to _your wife_ on the phone"

It startled her - the both of them. Something twitched within her, throbbed slightly under her skin and more than caused a tender warmness to fill her depths. On the other hand, his confused frown had a tense line, _bitter_ one. And in front of her very dark eyes, Emily watched as it morphed into new features, almost at ease and pacing and inquiring all at once - for a brief instant, _indeed_ , but she could read it anyway.

Without further explanation, none actually despite a polite greeting, they were ascending to meet a brown wooden door, anticipate as it swung open until an empty living room appeared to them. Nevertheless nothing saved the environment from pale shades reflected through endless windowpane, they felt a different tinge. Just as the owner showed every curve, every detail that she considered necessary, Hotch stood in the middle of the corridor.

There, silent and in near peace with himself, the father of one could finally let a sensation to dwell his mind, a single image invading his closed lids. Little boy's steps to be heard up and down, red lips curved into a smile as her frame moved to fix her routine, himself marking each space as he made it to be his _home_.

Aaron unhooded his hazel orbs, met her pure smirk down where cold rays kissed alabaster skin, natural dimples flashing. She never looked more _Emily_ , he noticed.

* * *

The case got to him. Not for the same reasons it usually did, not as much as it got to Reid or as much as it enraged Morgan. Still, there was something odd about it, something unusual that unsettled many strings all at once. It all started with a call, with him finding their tech analyst, the resident genius and _his_ – yes, he was a smug bastard – dearest subordinate down where they sat in the bullpen. Bad news, brainstorms and a gathering later, there was Cece flirting with him the whole way through it, exactly how she used to do back to when they worked together in this. Then it turned to be Matloff's M.O. that actually made him cringe.

Young, brunette, jogging _alone_ early morning.

Whether Hotch decided he'd join Prentiss in her morning demeanor or not, this was his problem to deal with later. And if she wore a _damn_ black dress to work, plundering his thoughts and his every breath – put aside how he struggled to keep his eyes off her, _professional_ , cold – this was nobody's business but his. Hers as well, though the Unit Chief could tell the team's vixen was doing this on purpose.

Emily was experimenting, testing a delicate soil just in case they were supposed to follow this path anyway. Because these recent weeks changed everything, they turned tables and got them out of that limbo they had trapped themselves into.

"I brought you dinner" her red buttoned shirt rounded his imposing table, leaned hips into it right beside his spot while Chinese was placed in front of him. "It's not your fault; don't put this on your back"

" _You_ blame me" he cocked an eyebrow, half sure, half doubting his own sentence.

Though the ambassador's daughter craved to show him she didn't, they were not in a place to do so. _Not yet._ Chopsticks mixed the contents inside her own box, brown eyes following every movement as she held her gaze there.

There was just so much more behind his sentence, so much more under that cool exterior, stoic façade. Suddenly, their conversation was not about Brian Matloff, about the case or how well he could do in the court. Quite not what she expected, if she had to be honest with herself.

"I don't, not at all" her sigh heaved her full chest, shedding a lump she didn't know she was holding "I never did"

His remorseful grin screamed guilt, screamed a side of Aaron Hotchner he had been keeping from her. The older agent shrugged in mere defeat, somehow released of his mistakes – although they'd haunt him to his very end. "Why you never told me this?"

In the meanwhile she left his side to occupy an empty armchair right across from him, Aaron unpacked his last meal until his nostrils captured a delightful smell. He was distracted, lost to his activity when she mumbled between a portion and other.

"You never asked" it was an assumption, timid one but sharp against his built up walls; he never did, not even as he tried to recollect those hazy nights they connected their bodies in such mind-blowing intensity. "Cognitive Rehabilitation, that is"

They linked sights, translated each feeling into that delicate gesture, that minimal instant. Out of time, exquisite. No, he wouldn't buy it. He'd have the _closure_ that would bring peace to him – to _them_. It was a quotation, which earlier that same day left Reid rereading every action of his boss for at least the last couple of months, after he bluntly declined a blonde to pass by the office.

"Yes" his crooked smile tossed a tiny one from her, breaking their outspoken conversation in order to feed himself casually. "Cognitive Rehabilitation"


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo emotional right now, omg. Well, first of all a huge thank you for everyone that read this piece! Another enormous thank you to Lisa for literally saving my life and being an amazing beta! And Fran, you crazy creature that inspired me to write this and made me keep going ;)
> 
> I suggest you read the NY part listening to the song (You and Me - Lifehouse). Hope you enjoy it!

"LO-FI"

* * *

Another adventure awaited right after he purchased his new place – The Langham, uncontested – and this time she was the one to volunteer. Unpacking the few belongings her Unit Chief had brought to the apartment, they both realized furniture and decorations, or the lack thereof, were top problems to be solved. She didn't want to admit, of course she didn't, but silently, buried behind strong walls, Prentiss flamed with a terrifying hope in their future.

 _Their_ , yes, because the Ambassador's daughter analyzed him closely, watched every tiny shift in his unmatched behavior. There was not a day he wouldn't leave a cup of her favorite coffee on her desk, or that she didn't catch him staring at her just a bit longer than usual. He had joined her on jogging, swimming once though his skills were far from passable. When one uncovers the other darkness, it's always easier to see their light.

And she could see it, sense it, almost even taste it one night when their adieu lingered to a warm embrace.

Sunday trapped them to a huge home store nearby Emily's, wearing casual attire which resumed to shorts, flip flops, tanks and tees. It was still surprising – in good ways, matter-of-factly - to watch the older agent deconstruct his serious image. Even though, the brunette realized quickly how much they did him wrong. This, somehow, influenced directly on his easy detachment, his hollowness compared to the others. Someday, she'd understand this deeply, much more than she ever wondered back then.

But now, the younger woman walked around piles of corridors with two stacked special carts, most inner décor since the bigger objects would be delivered later. As she dragged them, looked for a certain vase of a certain color only Emily Prentiss could possibly recollect, his worn out eyes never left her slim figure.

"You have something to tell me" her sentence seared the space between them, shoved him against reality, against her easiness on reading him. _Him_. The man whose profile was considered the most difficult to crack into. No _breaches_ , no paths in, two weaknesses. His family and his job.

Except there was a _third_ now, tossing within as he nurtured with unbelievable care.

Thus, he spoke in such rational, measured voice that it took her a delectable while to perceive what he was aiming with the announcement. Aaron was heading to a _help group_. Fortnightly on Saturday morning, specialized in people seeking a way out without digging all their way in. She needn't question his bureau records, the effects this would have on his career. Furthermore, inquiring if their Section Chief was informed on such private matter almost elicited an inappropriate bubble of laughter.

The father of one tamed paperwork, maneuvered those files in order to sustain their Unit in ways nobody could ever understand. Dave hated politics, despised bureaucracy at all and obviously refrained from these exertions, what usually left Hotch or Morgan to trail that uneasy part. His plans were plain to her, it was thrilling.

"Have you chosen your alias?" his eyebrows rose as she grabbed one artifact to observe better.

Instinctively, a masculine palm cupped her hip in order to reach for something far from the lean table's edge, bending forward in the movement "Anthony Carter".

* * *

New York unleashed everything. Jealousy and anger and hurt and those exhilarating sensations like a freight train, ready to hit them flush. It started with Kate Joyner reminding him – her as well – of Haley, shamelessly expecting more from him, antagonizing with the dark agent who Emily immediately backed up. Also, Detective Cooper with his flirtatious methods, ones that left her - _briefly_ \- hanging by a thread, wondering what the true extents of her relationship with her boss were.

Throughout hell, the brunette pair rarely wasted time with questions such as why or what. Their first night had been accidental. Never a long time coming or even idly anticipated. There never had one single planning for whatever they were supposed to become, for whatever the outcomes of that obscure, confused night might possibly be. No definitions, no _boundaries_.

This case, this awfully exhaustive case, brought them one missing piece to their puzzle: _fear_. Fear to lose each other in so many different shades. From simply drifting apart for countless reasons to never even being able to connect their sights in that discreet ballad of lovers which they now swayed to with imprudent steps, halting with any move.

Still, it delivered them good news, dashing hope in humanity that was growing within their blonde friend. That night, when Emily barely could shut her eyes and boldly decided to head to the lobby therefore she could just watch the pale stride of eventual guests, it was not a surprise to find him sitting alone. FBI file opened right across his tense figure, left hand swirling his calligraphy as his other one ran his short hair so that he could shush screaming voice of weariness.

"I like this song" she proposed after minutes of strictly professional chit chat.

Then, his gun-callused fingers entwined with her long similar ones, amusement written all over her face by the very instant he pulled her closer. Once more, her chin rested on his shoulder, his hands enveloped her narrow waist, made her feel small in his arms. It smelt like home, it felt like home, and both of them would give anything to confirm their suspicions that, _yes_ , it tasted like home also.

It was an old record, old but new because there had been three years. They could see winter, every sorrow, every unwanted road they rode from the last year to where they met each other now. Tears pooled, glassy eyes held back for they were both too good at hiding their feelings. And if their faces buried deeper on the other's shoulder or neck, his grip on her sleep shirt's fabric became tighter or she skimmed the hem of hair on the nape of his neck, the raven-haired agents unspeakably agreed it wasn't time or place to make decisions.

_'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do, nothing to lose_

After hours, the younger woman promised herself she'd take some time to visit Cooper. No feelings, no second intentions. Just an unabashed guilt mocking at her for not arriving there in time, for shooting their possible suspect or their first solid lead.

_And it's you and me and all of the people_

The blonde hoovered over him and he couldn't deny he was ghosting her every step. Kate reminded him of summer, warm summers with Haley and Jack playing in the park. Echoes of childish laughter, sandy hair, boyish smile appeared on his every breath and became the reason he was even holding up.

_And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_

Albeit Dave personally intended to punch Aaron every time the younger profiler kept that ridiculous game of protecting agent Joyner, he recognized his reasons. Home had been quite a somber room for him with the exception of a certain brunette whose doe eyes flamed with anger anytime she caught a glimpse of the British woman.

_All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right_

After this was all over, they wrapped up the case and landed back at Quantico, they would finish putting every fracture of his new residence in its perfect designed spot and he'd give her a key. It was likely never to happen, for he still maintained that nerdy interior avoiding much of a success on the romantic roll, but he enjoyed the simple thought of it.

_I'm tripping on words_

Enclosing herself inside the black SUV, safe and sound and with anxiety consuming her thoughts whilst the young Detective was still in surgery, Emily unwillingly fished her phone. A call could interrupt anything he was going, could even make her fool herself with words or whatever that she wanted to tell him. There was this pain inside her, an anguish reflected from the way she was picking her nails to a different tightness inside her chest. As precaution, she typed something short, a reminder.

_You got my head spinning_

Still in the elevator - still careless somehow -, the blonde resumed their informal conversation after Aaron checked his phone. It was her, her whose doe eyes he dreamed of and whose lips he so _damn_ wanted to feel against his again.

_I don't know where to go from here_

When they walked outside, crossed the empty street while the cool night-like breeze kissed his rough skin, he thought about what he'd put in that vase.

_'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do, nothing to prove_

He thought about the flowers he should give her as a gesture of how thankful he was for everything. _Everything_. Lilies, roses and chocolates, it was almost certain. She _loved_ chocolate, his memory never faltered. Likewise – or maybe with greater intensity -, he thought about making love to her, savoring what they never did. Flatly even thought about introducing her to Jack, maybe even tell Haley about it.

_And it's you and me and all of the people_

In the end, he wasn't quite sure why those musings stole his attention for that short minute. He wasn't quite sure why or how he was brutally thrown to the curb on the other side of the street. He wasn't sure of why his mind blacked out just seconds after a loud sound thumped against his eardrum and probably blew it. He was varying on why the metallic taste of blood painted his tongue with all those crimson textures.

_And I don't know why I can't keep my eyes off of you_

Moreover, he remembered her last request that he might never be able to accomplish as numbness took over.

_'Be safe. E.'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next season :D

**Author's Note:**

> Drop me a line if you can :)


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